


We're Still Here, Still Alive, Still Together

by WhisperingWillows



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Comfort/Angst, Drabbles, F/M, M/M, Some are smutty, Walrider Miles Upshur, each of them will have a short summary at the chapter start, some are fluffy, some are more serious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-21 16:08:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30024360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhisperingWillows/pseuds/WhisperingWillows
Summary: A series of camerashipping-centric drabbles taken from my outlast blog and put here for ease of convenience!
Relationships: Lisa Park/Waylon Park, Lisa Park/Waylon Park/Miles Upshur, Waylon Park/Miles Upshur
Kudos: 4





	1. Goofing Off

**Author's Note:**

> Miles and Lisa blow off steam by messing with their resident techie.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lisa and Miles blow off steam by messing with their favorite techie.

“H-Help!”

“Ssshush! Shush! This place was cheap, so you know how thin these walls gotta be!” Lisa giggled like a little kid as she and Miles wrestled her wiggly, and very confused, husband against the bed.

“What are you doin—Hey!” Waylon gasped, his struggling intensified as Miles’s freezing cold hands found their way under his shirt. “Th-that’s chilly! Slow down a second! What’s going on?”

“If you stop squirming for two seconds, they’ll warm up, then you won’t have to complain.” The look on the other man’s face was almost uncharacteristically childish. Lisa laughed again.

“Can’t take down an evil corporation in a day. We’re working so hard, baby. All of us. Especially you, so you can’t blame us for wanting to take a night to mess around. You just happen to be something me and the corpse both enjoy.”

“I resent that.”

“You’re just mad you can’t come up with anything clever to call me.” Lisa’s hands gently tugged up his shirt, face pressed into Waylon’s neck. He could feel her grinning against the skin. “You know we both happen to be head over heels for you, so let us take care of you.”

“Take care of...alright? I...Give me more heads up next time—“ He could barely get a full sentence out. Lisa trailed her lips down his neck as Miles felt up his torso.

“Damn, would you look at this body? Some scars, sure, but not one bullet hole leaking nanite sludge. So handsome. Stop squirming. Final warning.” Struggling in a grapple is so ingrained into every ounce of Waylon’s being after escaping Mount Massive. Stopping was just not going to happen, especially with all the groping. Fingers, the ones left, squeezed slowly up from his hips.

Lisa only briefly separated from his neck. She’s well aware of the sweet spot. “You can make some noise, you know. That’s what we want. Just don’t get us kicked out.” To make her point, when she came back to his skin, she bit him, giggling again at his resulting yelp and the way Waylon’s body jerked.

“Alright. Now you’re gonna get it. Don’t tell me I didn’t warn you. Lisa, help get his arms up.” 

“Wait, wait!”

Between his wife and his boyfriend, there was no chance at escape. Not when he wasn’t seriously trying to break free of their affectionate hands, anyway. His wrists were pinned above his head, and the techie was restrained further by thick bands of the walrider’s nanites. Both his partners looked him over with a mix of mischief and desire.

“You’re adorable when you blush, honey. You know that?” Lisa had a sing-song tone to her voice. “We’re going to have a lot of fun tonight, won’t we?”


	2. Guilty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waylon mulls over his survivor's guilt.

He doesn’t know how Waylon feels.

Or, rather, he has an idea, but he can never know how deeply the regret runs.

He’s dead, and Waylon’s responsible for it. Miles doesn’t have a heartbeat, he can’t eat, he can’t sleep. He claims to be used to it by now, but Waylon knows that isn’t true. He sees the way Miles looks at the black sludge leaking out of his skin when he gets cut.

That’s not how a man responds to a situation he’s used to

Waylon is just as sleepless as Miles over it. Spending nights among his own traumas, phone light on because the darkness is too consuming. He can’t be trapped in it again. All he has are his own thoughts to keep him company; he can’t go to Miles. His struggles far outweigh his own, who is he to complain about insomnia?

His mind always wanders to that email. He didn’t have to send it. If Blaire had just caught him a moment sooner, then Miles would be free of Murkoff, and of the thing living in his veins.

But then where would he be?

His corpse probably would’ve been left to rot on the steps of the asylum after being stabbed to death. He can’t forget that Miles saved him even after he got him stuck there…

…And then you stole his fucking jeep.

When they met again…the rage in his eyes…he could feel the Walrider seeping into his own body as it suspended him off the ground, fragments of machinery pulling at his flesh like bugs at decayed meat. Yet, that fear he felt…there was a feeling of justification, of acceptance when he thought Miles was going to kill him.

You deserve this.

But he didn’t, and now they’re in this dirty motel room together. That mutual affection that had grown since then almost made him violently sick when it budded. He could keep his own feelings of attachment stowed away forever if need be, but Miles admitting to the same?

How dare you trick him?

But he didn’t! He didn’t, not on purpose, at least…

Maybe if they met under better circumstances, and maybe if Miles still had a working heart and all his fingers…maybe the guilt wouldn’t be so much. Maybe he could feel alright with this. Maybe…

It’s torture thinking about all the ‘maybes’.

He can’t fix any of what happened to Miles. He has to live with sending that email, and it’s been killing him as surely as each bullet in his body killed Miles.

All Waylon can do is try to maintain some sort of semblance of being okay whenever he looks into Miles’ dead eyes. Surely he can keep that up.


	3. Sex Tape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waylon and Miles make a movie.
> 
> Contains smut.

“You think if I posted on something like PornHub, we’d get a ton of views? Like, come on. Unless some Murkoff bigshot stops jacking off to their own reflection, it’d be fine.”

“You’re being sarcastic, right?” Waylon glanced between the lens of the camera and Miles. His body was shredded. Literally. The bullet holes peppering his torso never quite healed fully, so they were always sluggishly bleeding this black gunk. Both of them had gotten used to it by now.

“Of course I’m being sarcastic, but we can still come up with a title for the tape.” He snapped his hips inside Waylon and grinned at the gasp he squeezed from him. “I’m thinking something like ‘Blonde Twink gets Hentai’d by Handsome Hunk Boyfriend’.”

“Excuse me?” Waylon wheezed between grunts and shuddery sighs as he got used to the slow pace. “If we’re sticking to stereotypes, you are the twink.”

“Maybe...And what would the Walrider be in that equation?” He slid his free hand up and down his side. “It likes doing these kinds of things. Far as I can tell, anyway, I get the same sort of buzz from it fucking you as when I let it out to take care of messier business.” 

Like, say, emulsifying Jeremy Blaire or an army or Murkoff mercs. 

“I don’t know...S’not like I can think up any smart title for it now...Damn, keep touching me.” He could never get affection after everything that’s happened to him, however minor it was.

“As long as you keep making noise for me. Hope you know how great you’re going to look in night vision.” Sure, holding the camera meant he couldn’t put his full attention to Waylon’s body, but he had the Walrider for help. Now was as good a time as any for the static to rear its head. 

Waylon swore under his breath feeling the buzz of nanites against his needy cock, like a vibrator with a will of its own. He cupped Miles’ face in his hands to pull him down into a kiss, moaning into his mouth and hips tilting eagerly towards his partner.

Miles buried his face into his neck. The tape would have some awkward angles, not that either of them actually cared. 

“I’m not...I’m not gonna last at this rate…”

“I don’t want you to last. I want to watch you come apart under me.” Miles sped up the pace inside, and Waylon bit his own palm to stifle a cry when he found and hit his prostate. “Come on, Way, do it for the camera. Let us see.”

A few more thrusts, and Miles grinned watching him tense up and cum on his own stomach. He pulled out with a slick sound. 

“Attaboy! Lisa’s going to get a kick out of this prime footage.”

“We are not showing this to my wife.”

“Aw, but I already told her what we were doing. What if she asks about it?”

“...Okay, sure Then she can see it.”


	4. Just Once

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miles isn't sure about wanting to go through with letting himself be close to Waylon.

“Just once…” Miles breathes. To Waylon, he always seemed to just so easily take things in stride. It’s almost alien seeing that change. “Just once I…I want something to go right.”

He looks at him with those dark, inhuman eyes, and Waylon sees vulnerability. There’s no hint of that casual confidence he’s grown so used to.

Miles’ skin is buzzing, the Walrider threatening to show its ugly face as his fight or flight response activated. “Everything is just so fucked. I’m not just talking about Mount Massive, but everything. Every man I’ve ever cared for I just pushed away, or I could never own how I felt, and all the regret kills me.”

Thank god he has no heartbeat anymore. Someone could’ve heard it pounding in his chest a mile away otherwise. “I care about you, Waylon. That wasn’t supposed to happen, and it terrifies me that it did because the last thing I want is to hurt you.” Love was never something he could manage, and whenever it failed to work out, he and his partner would always be more damaged for it.

Could he do that to Waylon?

Goosebumps rose along his skin when Waylon leaned against him. “If you wanna try this, then…I say we go for it. Worst thing that happens is we don’t work out, right?” Nothing could damage him more than Murkoff already had. He was sure of it.

Miles wants to argue, but one look from Waylon stops him.

Just once, maybe he could let himself believe this could work out.


	5. Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Miles and Waylon met up after escaping Mount Massive.

The first thing Waylon did in the park bathroom was throw up. It was a very temporary relief that flooded his bones as he curled up in a stall corner, choking and sobbing. There was so much work to do. Getting cleaned up, a new change of clothes, wrapping up his leg. He didn’t have the resources to help himself even get started.

And that jeep...It’s not like he was that far from the asylum. That car was like a lit cigarette in the dead of night, waiting to signal his former employers down on his head.

Hearing the door swinging open shut his mouth immediately. As steps echoed slowly through the dark restroom, Waylon quietly climbed on top of the toilet and held his breath. His vision blurred—No, he’s away from the engine. He shouldn’t still be seeing things, right? It took a massive amount of effort not to whimper in pain from the burgeoning headache pounding in his skull, and then the door swung open.

The man is clearly not Murkoff personnel. Bedraggled, torn clothes, whole body dripping in different shades of red and black. Blood and some identifiable sludge. It leaked from holes that peppered his worse for wear form. He honestly wasn’t much better than Murkoff.

“You coulda waited for me to get in the damn jeep. I mean, it’s my car to begin with.” There’s a hint of a joking tone in his voice, drowned out by the direness of the situation.

Waylon, who nearly slammed his head into the tile wall in shock after first seeing him, paused. “You...You’re Miles Upshur. But..” He gulped. “What happened? You…”

“Died. Like, I died hard, but let’s call it a bit of a touchy subject right now. Come on out so I can help you not die.”

Waylon took his outstretched hand. Just touching him made him feel hazy, but he was beginning to put together the pieces of those last chaotic moments of his time in the asylum. “That was you with that...that mist. Dear god, the Walrider—” His voice failed him.

“Yeah, it looks like it found it’s perfect host, huh?” He hauled him over near the sinks, seeming unaffected by the damage his body had taken. “Guess it made finding you pretty easy. Would’ve been a pretty long hike if I had to track you on my own.” He emptied his pockets of small bottles, little packages, and plenty of gauze.

“Where did you get this?”

“Had a bit of time. Mount Massive’s a shit place, but it was still a hospital. There’s, ah, bandages, rubbing alcohol, some cleaning pads...” A bit of time while he went crazy with the vengeance and took out the mercenaries that had flooded like rats into the building. Not that he’d tell Waylon, at least, not right now. “Go take a shower. Can you stand?”

“Sort of.”

“Sort of is enough. I saw the lights on in the ranger station just a bit up the path. I can short out the electricity and get some new clothes for us while the people inside are distracted. Just clean up. I’ll want some warm water for myself when you’re done, so keep that in mind.”

And then he was gone, almost seeming to float off the ground. Waylon wasn’t going to fight his instructions, but he was so astonishingly prepared when he came to him. Maybe Miles just had the time to think about these things. Whatever. He limped his way to the mildew-ridden showers and stripped, but one of his jumpsuit’s cuffs stuck to his injured leg. He had to swallow his reemerging nausea as he peeled it off and as the wound began to bleed freely again.

He’d take care of it. Don’t think about it. 

Waylon opted out of standing in the stream just in case he ended up passing out. Grime and blood, some his own, some not, washed off, turning the water all shades of grey and pink as it swirled down the drain. Subsequently drying off with only paper towels took a lot more work. Really? Not one park visitor could’ve left behind a towel? He wouldn’t have cared if it was used.

Miles was back just before he could get his leg taken care of, clothes in his arms. “Oh, hell, I thought that looked bad before.” He didn’t seem to care that he was naked. To be fair, most of the inmates that chased after them didn’t care at all about modesty, either. 

He dropped the outfits by Waylon to pick first from while he looked at the gash.

“Your fingers…” He grumbled as he tossed on a plain, gray shirt. It was a little big, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. Waylon bit down on his lip as Miles poured a bottle of the rubbing alcohol over his calf.

“Yeah, my fingers. The guy who did it is long dead, though.” He emptied the towel holder to sop up the blood. “I imagine the guy who did this to you is, too.” 

“I actually did this to myself, getting away from the bastard,” he sighed, “But yeah, he’s dead. We’re not. That’s what’s important.”

“You’re not,” Miles corrected.

Waylon didn’t want to think about that. He swore under his breath as his leg was finally wrapped up. At least it wasn’t bleeding in open air anymore. “Aren’t you hurting?”

“If I was, I imagine ‘d be in too much agony to do more then writhe around on the ground...I mostly just feel numb. Kinda cold.” The bullet holes looked more closed up than they had when he left. Was the Walrider healing him?

Waylon got dressed and waited for Miles to take his own shower. When he was finished, he fished the jeep’s keys out of the jumpsuit. “You go start the car, I’m gonna get all our garbage together. Keep it on us until we can burn it.”

“Miles…”

“Yeah?”

“...Thanks for saving me. From Jeremy, and from the asylum in general.”

“Well, you do have the information to take the whole damn corporation down. Couldn’t leave that behind, could I? The public eye might find me too jarring to think I’m real.”

There was still plenty to do, including abandoning the jeep, but Waylon needed to go home to his family. With somebody else on his side, it was definitely easier figuring his next steps out.


	6. Meet Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if they met up while still inside the asylum?

“Shut up! Shut the fuck up!”

The voice with a dirty, bloody hand clasped over Waylon’s mouth warned in a harsh, loud whisper. He had long come to associate lockers with a sense of safety not elsewhere found in the asylum until...well, up until he found himself trapped in one.

But what other choice did he have upon finding himself pursued again by a variant? Waylon had escaped earlier than he thought, but that meant whatever The Groom had drugged him with hadn’t quite left his system. The lingering grogginess in his veins meant he couldn’t run like earlier. He didn’t want to hide again, and he especially didn’t want to be stuck with somebody else in that hiding place!

Miles was very much in the same boat. His finger-stumps hadn’t really stopped bleeding and hurt like hell, and in comes barreling a patient, bringing with him the much more aggressive variant that had juuust moved far enough away for him to make a run for it. Now they were playing tetris with their own body parts just to fit in the cramped locker.

Waylon tried not to throw up. The smell of coppery blood, filth, and definite infection were suffocating this close and concentrated to his nose. The variant eventually passed on, grumbling about lost targets, and the hand dropped.

The high-pitched whir of a camera turning on caught his attention. “You’re not a variant. At least, not like the others, are you?” Miles suddenly questioned. He’d flicked on night vision to get a look at him. “The machine hasn’t gotten to you yet.” Another glance through the gaps in the locker. “I think we’re okay. For now.”

Outside the small, dark space, Waylon recognized the man instantly. “Miles...Miles Upshur? Investigative journalist Miles Upshur? You actually answered my email?”

“Email?” He blinked. “You sent me...You’re the whistleblower?”

“Yes! Yes, I...where are you going?”

Miles ignored him as he walked straight through to the next room. Waylon followed. “Wait! Wait! Don’t...please, don’t leave me alone. I haven’t seen a friendly face since I left home.”

“You brought me here,” he pointed out bitterly. 

“It wasn’t like this when I contacted you!”

“Of fucking course it wasn’t! I’m still not happy about it!” Miles stopped, giving him another lookover. “So they Trager’d you, huh? Guess you got caught.”

“What?”

“You did something your Murkoff pals didn’t like, so they up and threw you in here to cover their tracks. Tell your whole family you’re crazy and need to get treated at this specific facility.”

Waylon never met Trager. He wouldn’t have known the context, but Miles was right. That’s exactly what happened. “They are not my friends,” he told him with a sneer. “...Are you looking for a way out, then?”

“After I burn this whole joint to the ground, definitely. I’m getting out of here alive.”

He had nowhere else to go, nobody else whose face was remotely friendly or sane to follow, so Waylon went after him. “How do you mean?”

“That little project you guys were working on? The walrider? You had to have seen by now, haven’t you? I’m taking down the engine. Was told how to do it. Getting there is the hard part, but I’d rather go it alone. My chances are probably better.”

“I’m not with them! I...I didn’t like what I saw, that’s why I sent the email.” He wanted to leave. Now. Get away as soon as possible and see his boys and Lisa again, but… Miles was missing fingers, and he was still going. He had a goal, and survival on top of that goal. Waylon had no idea what his chances were, alone or with somebody, on their own, but they would probably drastically improve with the Walrider gone. “I’ve got clearance. Had access to some codes and passwords. I worked with the engine, made sure things ran smooth with the programming.”

“And?”

“And I think I could help you actually reach the damn thing. Maybe even dismantle the project faster.”


	7. Teeth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The walrider's mutating him. Miles can't hide it much longer.
> 
> Contains smut.

Buzzing.

Fuck. Buzzing. In his head. Threatening to rip him apart from the inside out.

Miles knew what that meant as he hooked his finger under his lip and pulled back to look inside his mouth. It only verified what he felt on his tongue: a new mutation.

He didn’t look too different when he first became the host for the Walrider. Other than the pale skin and the transformation of bright red blood to a thick, black sludge, he looked relatively normal, but the longer it stayed in his body, the more it altered his physicality. His eyes adjusted to see better in the dark. His digestive system eroded, having been considered unnecessary with the swarm keeping him alive. Most recently, the nanites chewed at the enamel of his teeth until they were sharp and jagged.

Billy Hope didn’t go through any of this. He knew that, but Billy was alive. Miles wasn’t, and it seemed that the Walrider realized just how much control it had of his internal systems. The buzzing spread down from his head to the rest of his body, trying to tell him that it was bored now that the task it set out to complete was finished.

Preferably, it chose to dispose of the built up energy and aggression with death and destruction. Of course Miles couldn’t let it kill anybody. Even without the mountain of morality issues, a trail of dead bodies or dead animals could lead undesirable attention directly to him and his companions.

“Fuck...this is going to be harder to hide.” Good thing he didn’t need to eat, because biting his tongue off would be a dead giveaway about the more invasive changes. He stared at his reflection in the mirror. “Come on. Take care of the more impending issue, and burn that bridge when you get to it.”

Fingers gripping sheets and legs wrapped around his waist, Waylon looked perfect. This was the only other surefire way to sate the swarm, or at least, it was the only other way Miles had discovered. A good fuck. The room was filled his soft gasps and little moans as they tried to respect the thin walls of the motel.

Waylon was warm. He was alive. Miles wondered how he felt about getting penetrated by a literal corpse. A corpse that was also sort of lying to him about how drastically his body was being affected.

It was like he blacked out. One moment everything was fine, and the next, his new teeth were in his partner’s shoulder, the taste of copper leaking onto his tongue. Yup. He definitely wasn’t going to be able to hide it after this.

Waylon didn’t seem to care at that second, though. “Miles!” He wailed. Volume didn’t matter anymore. “Wha...What the hell? What’s wrong with your mouth?”

Change the subject. Change it now! “Did you just cum the second I bit you?”

“Well—Shit. No, don’t distract me! They weren’t like that a few days ago!”

“Don’t be mad. I just found out about it, so technically I wasn’t hiding it from you.”

“Miles, this is serious—“ He was cut off by the strangled moan that found its way out of his throat as Miles’ teeth sunk into him again. “Miles!”

“Wow, you are really into this.” If he was flush before, Waylon was blushing all the way to his ears. “Yeah, you’re right. This is definitely serious, but it won’t get any more serious in the next five minutes. I just...I really need to finish. It feels like my brain is full of static.”

A painful coolness settled in Waylon’s poor, torn up shoulder. How was he supposed to explain wasting their bandages to Lisa?

“Maybe...maybe lay off the biting?”

“I can. I can do that. You can’t deny you were into it, though.”

“You know what I’m also into? Not bleeding out because my boyfriend turned into a damn shark.”


End file.
